I'm a Master in India

Anand had tricked Ron again.

Getting to Victoria Station wasn't that troublesome at all; it just so happened that the Hindu community was holding a celebration today.

Wealthy people had chartered taxis along the streets, generously offering rides to devotees.

After leaving his tricycle with a fellow driver, Anand flagged down a taxi with an orange-red flag for Ron.

He pointed at Ron and told the taxi driver that this was a Brahmin gentleman, a most devout follower.

Unexpectedly, after taking one look at Ron, the driver actually agreed to take them to Victoria Station for free.

The whole process went surprisingly smoothly; the driver didn't even suspect that Ron might be an imposter Brahmin.

However, Anand didn't get in the car; he went back to pedaling his rickshaw.

Which meant Ron had needlessly spent 10 rupees, while Anand pocketed the money without even breaking a sweat.

Standing in Victoria Station Square, Ron was still trying to wrap his head around it.

He strongly suspected that Anand's quick agreement to a tenfold price reduction was because he already knew about this.

This was unbelievable! For the first time in his life, Ron began to doubt his own intelligence.

But now was not the time to dwell on these things; picking up Nia was the priority. He had heard about the chaos of Indian train stations, which was akin to a refugee crisis.

However, when he looked up and saw the magnificent and imposing Gothic architecture before him, Ron was taken aback.

Was this a train station? It could just as easily be a church or a museum.

Too extravagant, too beautiful.

What made it even more perplexing was its appearance on an Indian street.

No wonder some people say that Mumbai is both part of India and not part of India; it's closer to Europe.

On the way here, Ron had also observed that there were many Western-style buildings nearby.

Walking down the street felt like stumbling into a summer version of London.

But this was only true for this small area; after all, there was also the largest slum in Asia to the north.

The train station was beautiful, and the people inside were as numerous as he had imagined.

Sitting, lying down, balancing things on their heads, it was a dense mass of people.

Everyone was chatting in groups of three or five, speaking in many dialects that Ron couldn't understand.

There are over a thousand languages in India, with 120 languages spoken by over a million people.

Printed on the rupee and recognized as official languages, there are 14.

By the way, although English is also one of the official languages, less than 5% of India's 900 million people speak it.

And this small percentage of English speakers is mostly concentrated in the higher castes. Most ordinary people don't understand English at all.

Although Ron had a good aptitude for languages, in India, he only spoke Hindi, English, French, and the local Marathi of Mumbai.

He glanced at the clock in the hall; 9:45, exactly five minutes before the train he was waiting for was scheduled to arrive.

Luckily, he was on time. Ron walked straight in without stopping.

Indian train stations don't have ticket checks; anyone can go directly to the platforms next to the tracks.

Ticket inspection is the conductor's job after boarding the train.

There were too many people lying on the ground, so Ron took several minutes to reach the platform to avoid stepping on anyone.

Just then, a train pulled into the station, and suddenly, the crowd began to stir.

Those carrying luggage carried luggage, those leading sheep led sheep, those looking for children looked for children. The previously peaceful scene instantly turned into chaos.

The train had barely stopped, and before the people on board could get off, the people below swarmed in.

Shouts of reprimand, cries, screams, the noise made his head ache.

Some impatient guys directly started prying open the windows, but several fists immediately struck them, causing them to scream.

Even so, they didn't let go, taking the beating while pushing luggage inside.

Seeing this scene for the first time, Ron was dumbfounded. Could Nia come out alive?

Without any hesitation, Ron rolled up his sleeves and pushed through the crowd.

At this time, he didn't care about being a Brahmin gentleman or a lower caste; finding Nia was the most important thing.

Fifteen minutes later, Ron, covered in sweat, looked blankly at the sparse crowd.

The train had already left, and most of the people had dispersed, but he hadn't found Nia!

Did he miss her? Or was Nia too small to get off the train?

Ron quickly walked to the ticket window to inquire about the recent train schedule.

As a result, the person inside told him that the train he was actually waiting for was delayed.

"About how long is the delay?"

"That, I don't know, sir."

"Don't know?"

"Yes, no one knows. The initial estimate is four hours, but it could be longer."

Four hours?

Ron suspected he had misheard and confirmed it again, but he received the same answer.

Crap, was this Indian time? Train delays were measured in hours.

Now he had two choices: either wait here, or go back to sleep.

Four hours, and it wasn't even certain. Ron suspected he would get heatstroke before he saw Nia.

He should go back first. He turned to leave, but a quarrel caught his attention.

"I said, I want to go to the hotel. I don't understand what you're saying."

"I am very cheap, I am the best guide in all of Mumbai. Believe me, sir, you need me!"

"Sorry, I don't understand. Please let me leave!"

"You want cheaper? No problem, 200 rupees, that's the lowest I can go!"

A white man was speaking English. A brown-skinned local was speaking Marathi.

The two were talking past each other, becoming more and more agitated. Look, they were about to start arguing.

Seeing that the white man was about to call for help from the police not far away, Ron stepped in at the right time.

"Sir, do you need help?"

Pure and fluent English instantly made the elderly white man feel like he had grabbed a lifeline.

"God, finally someone who speaks English. Tell him to stop bothering me, or I'll have to ask the police for help."

"OK, OK." Ron softly reassured him, then turned around with a smile, facing the dumbfounded native staring at him.

"Anand, what a coincidence, we meet again. But weren't you not planning to come to the train station? Why are you standing here now?"

"Ah, haha, Ron, it's you. I'm a rickshaw driver, as long as customers need me, I'll go anywhere. You've come at the right time, tell him to hire me as a guide, I can give him the best service."

Anand seemed to have forgotten what had happened in the morning; his face now only showed heartfelt joy.

What excellent acting! Ron smiled.

"Where's my 10 rupees?"

"Ah?" Anand's round, chubby face froze slightly, but he quickly blinked as if nothing had happened.

"Ron, I took you to the station, our deal is done."

"Then I'll tell this gentleman that you don't plan to leave and are going to stalk him?"

"No, no, no!" Anand quickly waved his hand, glancing at the foreigner with a troubled expression.

This was obviously a fat sheep, and a very rich one at that.

Although the other party was speaking English, he understood the name of a hotel.

The Taj Mahal Hotel, a famous five-star hotel in Mumbai.

Anyone who could book such a place was definitely super, super rich!

Anand even suspected that making this one deal would be enough for him to live lavishly for half a year.

"Alright, Ron, you win. I'll give you that 10 rupees when we get back, we both know where each other lives."

"Good." Ron, having regained the upper hand, now felt relieved.

It wouldn't be so easy to make money off him.

Next, Ron began to explain what had just happened to the white man, such as Anand being a good person and also a very good guide.

Since he had come to India for tourism, he probably needed such a service.

After understanding the situation, the old man named Smith finally let go of his hostility towards Anand.

"I do need a guide, but I want to hire you, Ron."

"Me?" Ron pointed to himself in surprise.

"Yes, you are the most suitable person. That shorty looks like a con artist."

Seeing the foreigner's gaze sweeping over, Anand, who was waiting on the side, immediately put on a flattering smile.

Yuck, disgusting.

Smith's determination to hire Ron became even stronger.

A guide? Ron raised an eyebrow, this seemed like a good idea, he was short on money right now.

"Mr. Smith, I'm honored to serve you. But there's one thing I need to confirm with you first: my prices aren't cheap. Starting from now, 50 rupees an hour."

"Of course, I believe that quality service requires reasonable compensation."

The two shook hands lightly, while Anand on the side became anxious.